


The Sun and the Stars

by StardustAndAsh



Series: Of the Rabbit and the Fox [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon, Dragon Age Quest: Here Lies the Abyss, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Siblings, Slow Burn, The Fade, Twin Inquisitors, Wren Lavellan, Ëonwë Lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndAsh/pseuds/StardustAndAsh
Summary: When Wren Lavellan decided to storm Adamant she wasn't expecting to walk once more in the fade, and she definitely wasn't expecting what she would find when she escaped.Ëonwë Lavellan thought he had closed the rift at Adamant months ago when he recruited the Wardens to the Inquisition. He wasn't expecting his past to come walking out of a new tear in the veil.As much as the two wish to never be separated again, it becomes clear that some things should never exist in the world at all.





	1. Waiting on the Edge of Battle

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS IT!! I have been wanting to write this fic for two years, before I started writing my first DA fic this is the fic I wanted to write!
> 
> Though I must warn readers it may not make a lot of sense unless you have read at least Miles to go Before I Sleep and Shadows Lingering Close Behind if not the entirety of Wren's series and Ëonwë's series.

Wren led the long march to Adamant fortress and with every step her hart took she could feel the weight of the Inquisition piling on her shoulders. This was the biggest thing they had ever done. After the Fifth Blight the Grey Wardens had become heroes and had immense influence. At her side ride Cullen and Cassandra, who had spent the majority of the march discussing battle plans and making arrangements for a long siege. Wren could hardly listen to them anymore. At first it had been interesting and the two had asked her opinion on strategies. Then the talk had turned to how many casualties they could afford before giving up the battle. Their easy debate of people's life had made Wren uneasy. Soldiers were trained and ready for battle but they were still people. Maybe they were like Wren, someone who didn't ask for this fight but would fight for their world regardless. Maybe they had families waiting for them somewhere. She stopped contributing to the strategy talks and they stopped asking her. 

Eventually Adamant fortress loomed high above them with cruel spires cutting the sky. Even under the afternoon sun the castle seemed dark and foreboding. As they drew to a halt, keeping Adamant at a distance of about a hundred or so meters, an eerie silence took over. No noise but the snapping of banners and the quiet hush of feet in the sand came to Wren's ears.  She could see figures standing along the wall facing the approaching army but none moved or called out to others. Not even a warning blast on a horn. 

“Spooky,” said Hawke, approaching Wren from the left.

Wren looked up at the tall woman and nodded. Hawke brushed her hair back with one armoured hand. The other hovered around the knife at her belt. Even after jumping down from her horse Hawke still nearly loomed over Wren on her hart.

“What do you think the Wardens will do?” asked Wren.

“I don’t think they have the willpower left to surrender. Pity,” said Hawke.

Wren watched her lead her horse away into the makings of camp. Hawke’s silver armour glinted in the sun like a beacon and a challenge. Not for the first time Wren envied the confidence the woman put on with that armour. People noticed and respected Hawke even before they knew who she was. And Hawke held her head high as she walked, always ready with a smirk and a quick quip. She made friends easily. Even though Wren had seen Hawke quiet and vulnerable once while conversing with Varric in Skyhold’s garden, the strength it took to project that sort of confidence was something Wren would kill for.

Especially now, faced with Adamant fortress.

Above on the battlements Wren could see a man watching the Inquisition make camp. The blue of the Grey Warden uniform stood out from the somber grey stone, yet he could have been carved from it. The man’s shoulder length black hair swirled in the breeze, yet he made no move to brush it out of his face. Wren shivered. She watched him for a few moments, before her hart felt her nervousness and began dancing beneath her and tossing his head. Gingerly she dismounted into the soft sand and followed in Hawke’s footsteps. Wren glanced behind her once. The man on the wall still looked out into nothingness.

The mood in the makings of camp was nervous. Wren had been around the Inquisition’s soldiers enough that she knew that some would sing in the hours before a battle. Some would sit together and pass stories and spirits around in a circle. The men here were quiet and restless. Even the few Chargers who accompanied them sat quietly by themselves outside a row of tents. Shoulder to shoulder, close enough to touch but not even daring to look at one another. As Wren walked and took it all in she barely noticed when a helpful squire came and took her hart’s reins from her hands and led the animal away.

Wren had done many things with the Inquisition that she had never dreamed of doing while living with Clan Lavellan. Storming a keep full of Abominations that were once Grey Wardens was definitely something she had never thought she would be doing. At a loss for what to do with herself in the few hours before the battle Wren made her way over to the biggest tent on the field and where she assumed Cullen and Cassandra had set up the war table.

The two were there, along with Solas and a few of Cullen’s Captains and Hawke’s Warden friend. Every single person in the tent was wearing a frown when Wren walked in. She felt any remaining shred of hope leave in those few seconds as the fabric of the tent wall swayed shut behind her.

“Inquisitor! I’m glad you have joined us,” said Cassandra, face softening as Wren stepped up to the table.

“I figured it might be better to contribute to our plans than fret outside,” said Wren. “Do our people have a chance?”

“More of a chance than we thought. Solas has brought some interesting theories forward,” said Cullen.

Solas nodded. “As demonstrated with our earlier encounter with the Wardens, I believe that the Abominations are being controlled, and if we get rid of that control it will be easy to gain the upper hand as their ranks fall into chaos. However, as with any Abomination, it will be impossible to recover the souls of those who have given themselves up to demons.”

Wren thought it was sad. When they had seen the Wardens performing the ritual before she had seen the crazed look of hope in the Mage’s eyes. He didn’t want to kill a friend, but if it was his only choice he was more than willing. She wondered what Erimond had promised them. If he had convinced them that the demons wouldn’t take over. Blood magic was one thing, but willingly inviting a demon in went against all reason.

“Unfortunate, but at least their deaths may not be on our conscience,” said the Warden. Alistair, Wren’s mind supplied. She’d only spoken with him a few times. Enough to know he had once travelled with the Hero of Ferelden herself, but not enough to fully comprehend his character.

“So, what you’re saying is that we just have to make it past the Abominations and take out Erimnd and this whole thing will be over with?” asked Wren.

Cassandra nodded. “The Commander and his troops will provide a distraction while a small party rushes through. We have no way of knowing how powerful the Abominations are, but I believe that we are strong and quick enough to break through on our own.”

Wren noticed that Cassandra was automatically including herself in the attack group. Her heart warmed and she felt some of the nervousness dissipate.

“A solid plan. I’m guessing Hawke and our Warden friend here will come with us?”

“Correct.”

“Inquisitor, if I may,” began Solas, “I would also like to accompany you in the forward team. I would like the chance to see the possession up close and understand the source of the control over the demons. I believe it must be caused by a powerful magical artefact or a type of magic I have not yet encountered.”

“Something strange to you doesn’t bode well for the rest of us. You can join. And maybe Cole. He might be able to help redirect the demons’ attentions if they’re inhabiting human minds,” said Wren.

Cullen and Cassandra both gave their assent. This could work. All they had to do now was wait for the siege engines to catch up with them over the sandy terrain and get them set up. The Abominations in the walls did not appear to be concerned by the Inquisition’s army slowly gathering outside the keep so everything was set up all the quicker. As night began falling the camp looked like it had been there forever with fires and tents set up in neat rows.

It was time.

The siege engines were loaded and ready, the soldiers standing with armour shining, the Inquisition’s banners hanging limply in the lack of wind. Wren’s hands were sweating in their gloves. Cassandra was a wonderfully solid presence to her left, and she stood as close as she could without leaning into her.

“It will be alright,” said Cassandra quietly, “the Maker will guide our swords.”

“The Maker is your god, not mine. I believe in you, not in divine will,” replied Wren with an attempt at a smile. “Do you still have it?”

Cassandra’s hand rose to her chest, where underneath the crest of Clan Lavellan hung on a leather thong. Her cheeks reddened, Wren could see the blush in the torchlight around them. It had become a habit to ask if Cassandra still wore the totem when they were faced with something seemingly impossible. A sort of good luck ritual.

“I rarely remove it,” replied Cassandra.

Wren reached for Cassandra’s hand and gently squeezed it when Cassandra did not pull away. As of late Cassandra had been far more receptive to Wren’s courting, though Wren was careful to not put pressure on her.

“Whatever happens, know my feelings are as strong as the day I gave it to you,” said Wren.

Then she turned, gaze falling over Hawke and Alistair, Cole and Solas, Cullen and the soldiers at his back. Wren made eye contact with Cullen and gave a nod.

“Give the order,” said Wren.

Cullen nodded back. “Inquisition, it’s time! Trebuchets, make ready to fire!”

A cheer rose from the massed soldiers, loud and stamping. The walls of Adamant remained steadfastly silent. And then, with barely enough time to breathe, the battle had begun.

 (a lil screenshot of Wren for you)


	2. Chapter 2

The walls of the fortress crumbled beneath the Inquisition’s trebuchets. Old stone shattered and slid into the coarse sand below. Despite the numbers and the destruction there were no return projectiles fired from within the walls. After a few minutes it was noticed by all, and Cullen came up with another plan.

“To the gate!” his voice carried loud over the sound of shouts and the creaking of timber and whistle of rock in the air.

An answering cry rose and a wave of soldiers rushed towards the thick, iron-braced gate. A battering ram was carried up, needing twelve men on either side to support its immense weight. With the attack on the gates, those in the walls sprung into action.

Fire rained from above the gate as demons hurtled fire and Abominations flung magic at the Inquisition’s attacking force. A volley of arrows on to the wall responded. Wren could see Sera leading the charge, and could almost hear her colourful shouts. Sera had not been happy to hear she was being left behind, though being in command of the archer’s assault had soothed her some. She hadn’t been able to look Wren in the eye when they had all prepared for the battle, instead offering a simple, “don’t die, yeah?” before disappearing. Now she was hurling fire-tipped arrows and what looked like her homemade jars of bees onto the ramparts. She may joke and speak like a gutter urchin, but Sera was one of the best they had at inspiring people. Archers flocked around her and listened to her shouts and orders and responded in mirrored levity.

The sound of the gate shattering was Wren’s cue to move into the fortress. She started forward, glancing to Cassandra. She met Wren’s gaze and nodded with her hand on her sword. Together they raced towards the slim entrance made by the battering ram. Already soldiers were pouring through the gaps with weapons drawn and held high. Wren and her companions joined the stream of soldiers, letting the forward rush carry them into Adamant’s lower bailey. There they were surprised by Wardens who had yet to lose their minds to demons or been slaughtered to create abominations. Wren hefted her sword out of its sheath and gripped the familiar leather wrapped pommel. This was it. She stormed in with a cry, ducking under a Warden’s sword and bringing hers round to crunch against his armour. The blow dented it inwards and the man fell with a cry of pain. Out of the corner of her eye Wren saw Hawke leap in the air and bring down her weapon on one’s head.

It didn’t take long for the Inquisition to overrun the lower bailey. They paused, a thrum of energy rippling through the air from person to person as the adrenaline that only comes from battle took hold of each and every one of them. Panting, Wren turned to see Cullen striding towards her, his great lion helm covering his face.

“Inquisitor!” he called. Wren had to stop herself from shrinking back. He was rather intimidating with the helm and the mantle and the naked sword in hand. “You have your way in. Best make use of it.”

Wren nodded, glancing at Cassandra and Hawke to direct their attention to the small set of stairs leading up to the battlements. Without any more encouragement Hawke scrambled up  and disappeared in the fighting. Wren sighed.

“We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied here,” said Cullen.

“Keep our soldiers safe,” said Wren.

“We’ll do what we have to. Just be sure that you keep yourself safe in there,” replied Cullen. “The soldiers can’t get a foothold up there. Give them some support on your way inside. We’ll cover your advance!”

“Good luck,” said Wren, turning to run up the stairs.

“Maker knows we’ll need it,” muttered Cullen as he ran back to the ranks.

The battlements were a mess of broken stone and demons. Everywhere wren stepped there was a body, or loose stones, or some trap set by a demon. She could hardly keep track of everyone in the battle. Solas was marked only by a few flares of magic, She spotted Cole helping soldiers off their ladders onto the battlements once, then saw him again as he sank his daggers into a rage demon.

It was chaos. Only by pure luck did Wren find Hawke and manage to drag her along to the heart of the fortress. She had to trust her companions were following her through the madness. Not for the first time Wren wondered what might have happened to her if she had never gone to the Conclave. If she had never cared about the Templar-Mage conflict. If Templars had never killed her brother. She’d probably be with the clan somewhere getting ready for winter. Teaching the young ones how to track a herd of deer or what plants had edible roots.

It took a terror demon nearly pouncing on her to shake her out of her thoughts. Luckily for her Cassandra yanked her out of the way and parried the blow on her shield. Wren reached around to smash into the demon with her sword.

“Are you alright?” asked Cassandra.

“With you holding my hand, never better,” quipped Wren. Cassandra dropped her arm and rolled her eyes, charging away to the next foe.

They were not expecting the chaos on the battlements to be nothing compared to what awaited them in the inner courtyard. Wren had been expecting the slimy bastard Erimond and Warden Commander Clarel to be doing some kind of ritual, but she had definitely not been expecting the largest rift she had seen since the breach floating in the centre of the courtyard. And there, on a balcony, was Erimond, someone Wren assumed was the Warden Commander, and a man, falling to his knees with his throat cut. Erimond spotted them first.

“Stop them! We must complete the ritual,” his thin voice called out over the Wardens in the courtyard. Many of the Wardens looked nervous or scared. Not abominations yet. A quick glance at Clarel and Wren could see she was not yet an abomination either.

“Stop now Warden Commander, for the sake of your men,” shouted Wren.

The anxious glance Clarel sent towards Erimond’s oblivious face was all Wren needed to see to know she could sway her.

“We make the sacrifices no one else will! Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them,” said Clarel.

“And then he binds your mages to Corypheus!” shouted back Alistair from over Wren’s shoulder.

Wren couldn’t hear what Clarel said next, but there was surprise on her weathered face. Erimond continued trying to persuade Clarel to complete the ritual to become an abomination, and just as Wren thought Clarel was going to break free of Erimond’s slithering words her shoulders straightened and she held herself with resolve.

“Bring it through,” said Clarel.

Wren watched as, impossibly, the rift began to open.

Hawke shouted something about blood magic but Wren remained fixed on the giant rift. Anything she could do stop it at this point would be worth the price.

“Please I don’t want any more bloodshed. I have no quarrel with the Grey Wardens. Can’t you see that you’re being used?” Wren shouted, not caring when her voice became desperate and ragged. It was worth it to see the Wardens in the crowd agree.

“You cannot let fear sway you.” Clarel pointed accusatorily at a cluster of men who had spoken up.

“They’re not afraid. You are!” accused Hawke. “Afraid that you ordered your bravest men and women to die for nothing.”

As if as one, the Wardens turned to face their commander. Wren bit back a shout as she saw Clarel turn to Erimond and quietly plead for something. Erimond turned away with a disgusted look and raised his staff.

“My master thought you might come here!” He slammed the butt of the staff against the stone and a ripple of magic echoed through the night. “He sent me this to welcome you!”

An unearthly roar echoed against the stones as leathery wings soared over the sands and blotted out the moon. Wren froze. Corypheus’ archdemon. The last time she encountered it she ended up half dead and alone.

“He makes me scared too,” said Cole from somewhere behind her in a shaky voice.

She watched, rooted to the spot, as the monstrous, deformed dragon opened its jaws and spat what looked like red lyrium straight at them.

“Cover!” shouted Alistair.

Wren managed to throw herself to the side just in time as the ground exploded where she had been standing. She hit the ground and rolled, hearing the dragon shriek and the sound of falling stone before looking up to see it had landed on top of a tower and snarled down at her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blast of magic. As she turned to look Erimond stumbled to the ground, Clarel behind him with her staff raised in an air of righteous fury. She then raised the staff towards the archdemon.

“Stop!” called Wren, but it was too late. The bolt of energy struck the dragon and it snapped to attention towards Clarel. Roaring its displeasure it leapt into the air and spat its red magic.

Clarel herself took off after the archdemon and Erimond, chasing them up the stairs to the upper walkways. For a second nobody else in the courtyard moved, then all at once Wardens were running and there was a deafening echo of swords being drawn from sheaths. The only one who looked unbothered by what just happened was Solas. Instead he looked inquisitive, like he had just come across a particularly difficult word problem rather than a live archdemon and a giant fade rift.

Wren scrambled to her feet and took off after Clarel. She wasn’t sure exactly why. It was probably a better idea to stay back and help the remaining non-abomination Wardens escape Adamant and the archdemon. But no. Here she was, sprinting up stairs with a giant sword strapped to her back and a handful of idiots stupid enough to follow her. Up and up they went, only catching flashes of Clarel as she disappeared around corners. On the other hand the archdemon was very noticeable as it flew around them roaring. Its wings beat down close enough that Wren was nearly blown over by the wind. Once it snapped at them as they ran by, nearly claiming Cole’s hat. As they ran by a series of pillars it leaned in and breathed its horrible breath at them, making Wren stop so fast Alistair ran into her back.

As they rounded a corner Wren saw Clarel sending bolt after bolt towards Erimond as she stalked him down a high bridge over the courtyard. Spell after spell flew from her staff until finally she disarmed him. Slowly, predatorily, Clarel circled Erimond as Wren and the others drew closer.

They should have seen it coming.

The archdemon snatched Clarel in its jaws without giving her so much as a second to scream. Wren screamed for her. Short and high as Clarel was waved around in the monster’s teeth like a cat with a mouse before flinging her down on the stones and advancing towards them.

“As much as I like dragons I think it’s time to go,” said Hawke.

Wren wholeheartedly agreed.

“In war, victory.” Clarel was still alive. She rolled over under the dragon.

“In peace, vigilance.”

Wren saw Clarel’s plan but the archdemon was between them and the exit. She had enough time to lunge for Casssandra and pull her down as Clarel released a tremendous burst of magic straight into the dragon’s soft belly. The archdemon’s legs buckled as it flailed against the stones. It disappeared off the edge and soared into the night.

For a second Wren thought that was it. Then the stone bridge began crumbling. Wren shot to her feet and scrambled back to heave Cole back from the edge as Alistair did the same for Hawke. There was a mad dash across the bridge as it fell from under their feet.

“Inquisitor!” shouted Cassandra as the bridge fell and took Wren with it.

Down she went. A second after Cassandra and Solas joined the plunge. Wren couldn’t find the breath to scream. They were falling so fast towards a lot of stone and a giant rift they would surely end up as splatters on the cobblestones.

Wait. The rift.

If she could close rifts with the anchor surely she could close them too. It wouldn’t hurt to try in any case.

Wren stretched out her hand and felt the painful pins and needles of the anchor crawl up her arm and burst of light shone across the courtyard as they slammed down.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter pre-written and am working on chapter 4. School is starting next week, but i'm hoping to keep to updates every friday or every other friday. Thanks to the few of you who have subscribed and given kudos, it means a lot that some of you would read this convoluted mess. 
> 
> as always i have definitely not proof-read <3


	3. Interlude: Ëonwë

Ëonwë stretched out happily in the dirt. The clear sky let the sun shine down on him so he could bask in its full warmth despite the thin branches of the maple tree at his head. No one knew where he was therefore he had nowhere to be, and as Inquisitor he was very rarely needed in less than five places at once. There was the nagging feeling that Leliana had someone’s eyes on him but the fact that he hadn’t been pounced upon by some dignitary or other meant she was willing to give him a break. He needed one too. There was a lot to be done in preparation for their march towards the Arbour Wilds. They had confirmation by raven of Corypheus’ army stationed in the southern realm, but were still awaiting the scouts to show them exactly where the forces were in the forests.

For now, there was a lot of preparation which a lot of people seemed to need his express permission to do. It was way better to lie under a tree in the sun. here in the dirt he was just Ëonwë. Only a mage of Clan Lavellan. He didn’t have to be the mighty Inquisitor, unbowed and unchained as some of the common folk who came as refugees to Skyhold began calling him. The news about him escaping the Venatori spread like wildfire. Ëonwë played idly with the crest of Clan Lavellan under his shirt. It had become a habit in recent months to run his fingers over the smooth wood carving and think of the clan he barely got to know.

“Hey Sunshine.”

Ëonwë turned his head to see Varric watching him over the top of a heavy looking book.

“Afternoon Varric,” he said in reply.

“You do realize everyone in Skyhold is looking for you right now?”  asked Varric as he flicked a page.

“Clearly not everyone,” said Ëonwë with a grin. Varric grinned back.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Accompanied only by the sound of birds and the rustle of pages turning. It was easy to forget that there was an ancient magister trying to end the world when the sun was so warm and the garden so peaceful. Not for the first time Ëonwë wondered what life would be like if he hadn’t been torn from his clan. He would be well into his studies as First, and would probably have a much better working knowledge of elvhen lore for one. And wouldn’t that be handy. He liked Morrigan well enough, but it was grating whenever she talked about an aspect of his own people’s mythology that he knew nothing about with that smug look on her face.

“What was she like?” asked Varric quietly, startling Ëonwë out of his thoughts.

“Who?”

Varric gestured at the maple tree he was lying under. “Your sister. I’m curious, and I have to get the description just right for my book.”

Ëonwë glanced up at the tree beside him and hauled himself upright to sitting. Varric dropped all pretence of reading his book as he waited for Ëonwë to speak.

“It’s been so long I almost don’t remember. Her eyes were purple. I remember them because I’ve never seen eyes that colour again. Wren would look at you and those eyes would stare right through you.”

“I’ve never seen eyes as gold as yours, Sunshine,” said Varric.

“Our parents used to tell us we were the sun and stars brought down from the heavens. We used to laugh about it. Wren had long hair that mamae braided every morning but by afternoon it would be tangled and wild. I think she had red hair, but I can’t remember now,” said Ëonwë. “Is it awful that I cannot remember my own twin’s face?”

Varric frowned. “It’s not your fault. You were a kid when she died, and a lot of shit has happened between now and then. And even if you don’t remember her face, no one is truly gone until there’s no one left to remember them. I’ll write your sister in my book, and that way her memory will be around forever.”

“Is that why you write about your friends?” asked Ëonwë. “So that time will never forget them?”

“Its part of it.” Varric nodded. “But its more because no one in the future will ever believe all this crazy shit really happened unless someone writes it down. And this way I’ll get all the royalties.”

A sharp bark rang out through the air as fifty pounds of mabari came hurtling through the bushes and slammed Ëonwë into the ground. The dog was followed by Morrigan’s son running through the garden smiling. It was a long cry from the creepy, closed off child he had been when the two of them arrived in Skyhold.

“Noya no!” shouted Kieran. “Off!”

Noya made no attempt to stop giving Ëonwë’s face a very thorough wash. He put up very little resistance to the dog and instead gave up and laughed until Kieran hauled her off him. The mabari puppy wiggled in excitement and yipped happily up at her master.

“I’m sorry Mr. Inquisitor, I only told her it was time to go out and play. I’ve been teaching her to fetch us books to read all morning.” Keiran still had the creepy, far-off voice.

“It’s quite all right.”

“Hey kid. Learn anything in those books you read?” asked Varric.

Kieran looked up and nodded. Beside him Noya the mabari mirrored his actions. It was quite cute to see.

“Lots of things. I have to tell Mother that I found an old story book with ones she never told me.”

“You know, there are hundreds of stories out there in books that people have forgotten. You want to find them all someday?” asked Varric.

“Stories help us learn culture is what Mother is always saying. I like to learn,” replied Kieran.

“Sounds like we have a diplomat in the making,” said Ëonwë. “Have you spoken to Lady Josephine? She’s the best diplomat we have and she knows all sorts of things about different cultures.”

“Really!” Kieran’s face lit up. “Come on Noya!”

Without so much as a good day the two of them tore off into the castle. Varric chuckled as he watched the two of them run off.

“The dog is good for him. I wonder where he found it all the way out here,” mused Varric.

Ëonwë, knowing full well that the Warden Alistair had given Kieran the mabari for his birthday, kept quiet. There was something going on there that he was sure was meant to be kept private.

With a bone-cracking stretch Ëonwë got up off the ground and gave a hand to Varric. It was probably time that he shed the skin of Ëonwë once more and became the Inquisitor again. He left Varric in the garden and made his way towards the War Room. He barely made it through the doors into the main hall before being approached by Leliana.

“Inquisitor, I have news you will wish to hear,” said Leliana in a low voice.

“What is it?” asked Ëonwë in the same tone.

He let Leliana lead him away from the main hall and the prying eyes of the nobles gathered there. They ended up in one of the unused halls off the kitchen where Ëonwë was surprised to see Warden Alistair waiting for them.

“What’s going on?” asked Ëonwë.

Alistair glanced at Leliana and gave a half-shrug. “I’m not really sure. The Wardens are reclaiming Adamant, trying to rebuild it. Yesterday I received word that those rebuilding saw the rift there. They say it didn’t last too long but that it keeps reappearing. Fortunately no demons have emerged yet, but they were hoping you could go and take a look and maybe close it before any do.”

Ëonwë frowned. Adamant held no good memories. Being thrown physically into the fade had never been pleasant. He’d closed the rift though. He had felt the magic, felt the rift close. This must be a new one. Maybe there had been enough residual magic from the fade to leave the veil around Adamant permanently weakened. It would be inconvenient if every few weeks he had to march into the desert to close a new rift.

“My spies report the same. Adamant has a new rift, yet it doesn’t stay fixed. It opens and shuts at will,” added Leliana.

“We should go investigate. If nothing else I’ll close the new rift,” said Ëonwë.

Alistair nodded, relief on his face. “That’s good to hear. I’ll tell the Wardens that you’ll be coming.”

“I’ll make ready to leave for Adamant in a few days. We should be there by the end of the week,” said Ëonwë.

The three of them turned and went their separate ways. Ëonwë’s head whirled with thoughts. If the veil was damaged, could it be fixed? Or was something from the fade trying to get out. Ëonwë looked at the anchor in his palm. This was the only key they knew of that opened and shut the fade, and Solas seemed to think there was only one in existence, but there was that niggling thought that maybe someone else possessed a way to control the rifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright kids, this is my last finished chapter. As ever there has been 0 proofreading or beta reading. 
> 
> I'm debating actually finishing this story on here, even though its the fanfic I've been wanting to write since I played DA:I. I know that it is very much my brain's baby and probably makes 0 sense to you the reader.


	4. Enter the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left such nice messages after the last chapter. This one is for all of you lovely people <3

 

The fade was green. Green and blue and lonely. It felt closer to an abandoned chantry than the realm of demons it was supposed to be. Something sad and forgotten. Looking around there were all sorts of strange and forgotten things, like a chair and a desk, set as if waiting for their owner’s return.

The air was different. The air smelled like acid and death and ash. No wind had ever kissed the land here yet things moved like a breeze brushed them by. Wren shivered. There was magic here, even she could feel it, twining around her like a happy cat and waiting to be called upon.

The others did not take the knowledge they were in physically the fade well. Well, everyone besides Solas. The worst was watching Cole have some sort of breakdown. Wren tried her best, but Cole remained one loud noise away from a full blown panic attack. Wren could sympathize.

Spirits drifted around them as if they were nothing but ghosts. Wren reached out to touch one and as her fingers brushed through the wisp she felt a surge of intense joy. Cassandra dashed up beside her and pulled Wren away. Without her hand in it the feeling of joy fled and the dread and anxiety returned.

“Lavellan! What are you thinking?” admonished Cassandra with both hands on Wren’s shoulders as she checked her over for any sign of injury.

“Fear not, Cassandra. Though we may be in the fade, not all here are demons waiting to pounce. However, I must impress upon all of us the dangers of walking physically in the fade. We must be quiet and vigilant in order to avoid attention,” said Solas.

“Not to be rude, but as it is rather terrifying here, is there any chance you could just rustle us up a rift out of here?” asked Alistair as he eyed up a passing spirit suspiciously.

“I don’t think that’s how the anchor works,” replied Wren. “I think it’s more of a key than a way to build doors.”

Wren stuck her hand out, anchor up, just to see what would happen. The surrounding magic crackled around it but a rift did not appear. It did do the exact opposite of what Solas wanted. Apparently rift magic was not something to be ignored if you were a demon in the area. They were sprung upon by demons, popping out of the ground to claw at them. Wren dodged and ducked while getting in some good hits of her own. She raised her sword to plunge it into a despair demon eyeing up Hawke but faltered when a voice, high and childish, called out from behind her.

“Asa’ma’lin.”

Wren whipped around. There was nothing there, but she could have sworn she heard a child. She turned back to the fight, laying a few good hits on the despair demon before it rocketed away to hide behind a floating pillar.

“Asa’ma’lin, why didn’t you help me?”

This time when Wren turned she came face to face with a snarling man in Templar armour. Behind him was a small elvhen boy with shining gold hair and blood all down his front. Icy terror flooded Wren’s veins, freezing her like a sculpture and leaving her unable to lift her sword to block the blow from the Templar.

“Lavellan!”

Wren was pulled backwards as the blade swung down towards her and she and her savior went tumbling back into the shallow water. Panting, Wren looked up into Cassandra’s concerned face, and Cole’s peeking out from behind her shoulder. With wild eyes she looked around for the Templar, but only saw Hawke and Alistair doing a bad impression of trying to not stare at Wren.

“The Templar wasn’t there. I don’t like this place. It knows how to make me afraid,” said Cole quietly.

“Creators, what was that?” asked Wren. Dimly she noticed she was shaking. One of Cassandra’s mailed hands was holding her own, gently tracing circles into it with her thumb.

“I am not sure. I think there is something evil here. I saw…. It does not matter. What matters is we get back to the rift,” said Cassandra, climbing to her feet and bringing Wren with her. “We cannot trust our eyes while we are here.”

Wren looked around and shivered. She had minimal magical ability, how would she be able to tell the real stuff from the nightmares.

“Great. I love it. Let’s set up a vacation home,” muttered Wren.

“Can we invite the desire demons? Those are the only ones worth bothering with in my opinion,” said Hawke.

Solas rolled his eyes but refrained from making a comment as he turned to lead the way down the jagged path.

There was not much new to look at. More broken mirrors, more strange and empty scenes. Cole was muttering about how this place wasn’t him, reaching out for the abandoned objects as if they could somehow turn into something recognizable and comforting.

Then, as they rounded a corner of sharp black rock, there was a figure waiting for them. Slender and glowing, almost like a spirit but somehow brighter and kinder.

“Warden and Champion, I greet you.” The figure’s voice seemed both young and ancient at the same time, endless and ageless.

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra sounded breathless and reverent as Wren had never heard her before.

The figure before her bore no resemblance to any person Wren had seen before but she couldn’t sense any evil intent from the creature.

“Is it her Cassandra?” Wren didn’t trust her eyes enough here to think the glowing figure might be real.

“I… I don’t know,” said Cassandra. “It is said the spirits of the dead pass through the fade and sometimes linger, but we have seen how the spirits here lie.”

As the conversation continued the glow dulled in the figure before Wren until it was nothing more than a faceless woman wearing a long white robe. Wren tried to see her face, but it was like her eyes wouldn’t focus on it or a steamed pane of glass lay between them. It was distracting to say the least.

“You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor,” said the figure, jolting Wren out of her scrutiny.

“How would you know that?” accused Wren.

“I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by Corypheus’ demon,” said the figure in the same unmoved tone.

Wren wasn’t sure if it was reassuring or not to know that she couldn’t remember because a demon took her memories or if it was terrifying.

“It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of darkness and fear, growing fat upon the terror. It created the false calling that has haunted the Wardens.”

“I will kill this nightmare to free my brethren,” growled Alistair.

“When you entered the fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you, Inquisitor. Before you do anything else, you must recover it. These are you memories.”

And in the blink of an eye the apparition was gone, leaving behind faintly glowing green lights akin to small rifts dotting the wide area around them.

Wren was nervous. Memories contained so much information. She had no idea if by collecting them the rest of her company would collect them as well. She walked slowly up to the first of the green lights, extending her hand as she would to a rift. It was the right course of action as the anchor in her hand connected to it and the light burst. Instantly Corypheus’ booming voice could be heard surrounding her.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

From the way Cole flinched and Cassandra’s mouth set into a firm thin line Wren guessed they had hears as well.

“You do not have to do this. We could keep going for the rift,” said Cassandra.

“I like that plan,” agreed Hawke.

Wren shook her head. “At least now we’ll have evidence that I didn’t blow up the conclave. I don’t think our _friendly_ spirit is going to let us go without doing this.”

She walked up to the next memory.

“Run while you can! Warn them!” That was the Divine’s voice. The next was her as well. “Why are you doing this! You of all people.”

Cole pulled his hat further down on his head as if he could disappear under it. “I don’t like this. He doesn’t like you remembering. If you remember there’s less fear for him to eat.”

Wren shrugged off the comment. Cole could worry but getting rid of some of this demon’s power would be miraculous. She held her hand to the last green light, except this time as it burst it felt like it burst Wren’s brain as well. With a cry she swayed on the spot, one hand coming to her head as her vision spun and quite suddenly she found herself in an unfamiliar room.

Divine Justinia was suspended in midair before Wren, held aloft by a magic she didn’t recognize. Warden mages surrounded the Divine, hands outstretched in their spellcasting, their faces impassive.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” said Corypheus. His voice was oddly distorted.

“Why are you doing this? You of all people?” The Divine also sounded strange.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

Wren watched as Corypheus stepped closer into the room. His giant, twisted figure no less frightening than it was at Haven. In his hand, he held a strange orb that glowed with green magic like that of the anchor.

“Someone, help me!” cried the Divine as Corypheus held the orb up to her. The orb’s light surrounded the Divine, pulling at her and twisting around like it wanted to suck her in.

The sound of the door swinging open was almost lost in the realization that Wrenn was being forced to watch the Divine die. The movement was what drew her attention, and seeing herself walking through the door was a frightening punch to the gut. It was herself walking through the door, looking far too small next to the large wooden doors.

“What’s going on here?”

Creators did she really sound like that?

It was enough to distract Corypheus enough for the Divine to smack the orb out of his hand and send it rolling across the floor. Wren watched as her past self dove for the orb, wanting to call out a warning but no noise came from her throat. She watched as she picked it up, as it began to whirl and glow in her palm, the soundless scream of pain as the anchor latched onto her and exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asa'ma'lin means sister. 
> 
>  
> 
> School started way too fast this year. I'm already working on one of my final projects 3 weeks into classes and spending time working on homework at school 3-4 extra hours most days (I'm in a costuming for film and theatre program and i gotta do a lot of my sewing work there). Not a lot of time for fanfic writing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOP i'm sorry this took so long to get out, real life kicked my ass this semester.

Being slammed back into the present was jarring, and Wren staggered a bit before regaining her balance. Looking around, the others were also blinking owlishly at their surroundings.

“So your mark did not come from Andraste,” said Alistair. He sounded disappointed. Wren could’ve told him that months ago if he asked. She never claimed as much herself thanks.

“Corypheus intended to rip open the veil and throw open the doors of the Black City,” said their mysterious spirit friend. “When you disrupted his plan the orb bestowed the anchor on you instead. You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all it took from you.”

Like that wasn’t a worrying phrase. So much had been taken from Wren in her life, and not just in the months since she ran away to watch the proceedings of the conclave.

“It knows you are here. You must make haste, I will prepare the way ahead.” In the space of one blink the spirit vanished.

Wren shivered. On their side or not, their helper was unsettling. Cole walked up beside her and held her hand. She could feel him trembling beside her yet he was still offering her comfort. Or maybe he was seeking it.

“Being here makes it hard to remember to be brave. You help me remember. Broken and bloody but you brought him home. Easier to die. Brave enough to live,” he murmured at her and pressed close to her side.

“Brave or not, this Nightmare sounds dangerous,” replied Wren.

“It’s nothing like me. I make people forget to help them. It eats their fears. I don’t know if I could do that but I don’t. I don’t want to. That’s not me.”

“I know it’s not. You’re Cole, not a demon,” reassured Wren. She gave his hand a warm squeeze before dropping it.

They continued down the path, Wren circling around to each party member and checking on them to keep herself distracted by what fears might lurk in the shadows. She’d already faced one Templar in the Nightmare’s dungeon, she would hate to face another. Or worse.

In one quiet moment she stood beside Cassandra as they found what dry spots they could for a rest. Cassandra had her polishing rag out of its case in her belt pouch and was methodically wiping her blade until it sparkled and then continued to do so.

“I hate this place,” started Cassandra. “I cannot fight nightmares. Demons I can kill, but things that twist my mind into fear are something else entirely.”

“I know how you feel. I keep wishing Solas would come up with some sort of magic to block the demon.”

“Could you try and get us out of here? Open a new rift and allow us escape.”

Wren shrugged. “I could try.”

Begore she could try and draw on the power of the anchor Cassandra spat and stood, closing one hand over Wren’s.

“Do not bother. It would only serve to tire and pain you. I apologize for suggesting it.”

“It’s fine, I can try anyway,” said Wren, but she made no move to remove her hand from Cassandra’s.

“No. I know now that it is not the Maker’s will that gave you this mark. I cannot expect you to work miracles. You have already spent enough blood and sweat carrying the Inquisition, we do not have to waste more when we already have a clear exit we must reach.”

“I hope it is just as simple as reaching the rift. We’re the first people to walk in the Fade in thousands of years, who knows what’s lurking out there.”

What happened to be lurking out there was a fat lot of nothing. They spent an hour walking across an empty beach, looking out over still black waters to an indefinable horizon. No ripple stirred the water, not even when Alistair launched a pebble into it, nor when Solas dipped one booted foot in. Everything about this corner of the Fade felt wrong.

Then they found the graveyard.

Cautiously, Wren entered through the low rusted gate. Two rows of headstones awaited her. Peering at the first one, she read ‘Blackwall: Himself’. Strange. Wren looked at the next. This time the stone read ‘Cole: Despair’. A lead weight settled into Wren’s stomach. The Fear Demon had conjured a graveyard of her companions killed by the thing they feared most. The ‘Helplessness’ carved into Cassandra’s stone nearly brought tears to her eyes. After she found all of her companions she nervously looked for her own. After scanning all the stones for her name she noticed a stump of a tree tucked into the back corner of the graveyard. On approaching it looked withered, dead, and purposefully cut. No words were carved into the wood, but Wren knew without a doubt it was telling her Clan Lavellan had cut her away. She wiped furiously at her eyes and blinked back the tears. Behind her she could hear her companions finding their stones and the quiet dismay each of them had at reading their downfall.

“We can’t stay here,” said Wren, quietly first then again louder.

No one looked at her but all of them trickled back out of the graveyard. Hawke flipped her stone off for good measure as she walked away.

The rocky beach led up a stone pathway to a barrier and more demons. Waves and waves of demons. Everyone was quiet as they fought other than the necessary warnings about their attacks to each other. Then, again as soon as the fight was over, Wren found herself flung into her memory. This time it was scrambling over rocks away from spiders and demons towards Divine Justinia. Behind the Divine hovered a rift. The first rift. The one she had walked out of in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Just as it seemed they would be safe the Divine was ripped away and Wren was left alone in front of the rift. What could she do besides jump through it or be killed by the encroaching demons. Through the rift she leapt.

Wren’s vision flared white for a moment before slowly coming back. The Divine, or the spirit wearing her face looked at her with a somber expression. Finally, it dropped the façade and revealed its true form. Glowing with a golden light, a feminine figure rose into the air above them. It was odd, but Wren could’ve sworn the figure was familiar somehow. When it vanished with a puff of cloud it felt like they were being abandoned.

The next area felt darker. The rocks that hung overhead were closer to the high stone walls that guided them forward. As they went the tunnels narrowed. The abandoned objects that littered the walls and ground were more cracked and broken. Wren could hear the clanking of Templar armour from around every corner though nothing lay around them.  Then the path widened out again. At the far side of the open space the rift hovered clear and strong. Unfortunately, their path was not clear.

All Wren could stare at was the monstrous creature standing over the area. Too many eyes to count stared down at them over pincers twice as long as Wren was tall. The thing looked like a spider and a crab had a baby that grew to be the size of a chantry. Before it hovered the Fear Demon itself. It was almost humanoid but for its insect-like head and the spindly, spiderlike limbs protruding from its back. Wren stared in horror, and jumped when their friendly spirit rematerialized next to her.

“If you would, please tell Leliana “I’m sorry I failed you too.”’

The spirit drifted up towards, growing brighter and brighter until it hurt to look at it. When Wren looked back both the spirit and the giant spider were gone, and the Fear Demon was picking itself off the ground and snarling in anger.

Wren gave it everything she had. Things got confusing as the Fear Demon teleported itself around the area. Every time it reappeared it managed to land another critical strike on one of her companions or herself. At one point she managed to pull a trembling Cole out of the way of an attack when the Demon popped up behind him. Wren left Cassandra to finish off whatever demons the creature summoned during the fight while she doggedly chased the Fear Demon around the area. With every swing of her sword Wren could feel herself tiring, and from quick glances at the others, it seemed they were as well. It was a lucky, well timed blow from Hawke that saved them all from being defeated by exhaustion. As the Fear Demon fell with an inhuman howl Wren wasted no time in sprinting for the exit, pausing to pull Alistair forward when he stopped to sheathe his sword. No time for that.

“Go!” shouted Wren, waving her arms to the rift.

The others looked back but ran for the rift. Wren followed, trailing just behind Hawke and Alistair as they all dashed for the way home. Seeing the first group disappear through the rift was a wave of relief. They made it. They would all make it. Twenty feet and she’d be back in Adamant Fortress with Cassandra by her side and hopefully some new allies in the Grey Wardens.

So of course the giant spider had to come back.

Wren skidded to a stop as one leg as sharp as her sword crashed into the stone where she had just nearly stepped. Behind the spider, Alistair and Hawke stopped as well.

“Inquisitor!” shouted Alistair, raising his weapon.

“Go!” Wren waved them on. They had to go while the monster was fixed on her. All she had to do was not look up at its terrifying face.

Alistair hesitated. The monster turned. In the span of about three seconds Wren weighed her options and found herself coming up short of a plan to get them all out. But she could do something. She gripped her sword and spun, digging it into the spiders leg with as much force as she could. It screamed and turned back to her.

“Go, I’ll distract it,” yelled Wren as she ripped her sword viciously out of the spider and swung again.

Hawke yelled something back as she dragged Alistair through the rift, but Wren didn’t catch it. She was a little preoccupied with dodging another piercing blow from the spider. She did notice when Alistair and Hawke disappeared into the rift, and raised the hand with the anchor. It wasn’t the best idea, but it was all she could think of to keep everyone safe, to keep the giant spider inside the Fade. The rift shut with a familiar thunderous boom and surge of pain. In the few heartbeats between the rift closing and the pain fading the spider saw its opportunity and landed a blow that sent Wren sprawling across the rocks.

Right. She hadn’t thought about the whole being stuck in the fade with an evil, thirty-foot-tall spider demon.

Trying to pull air back into her lungs, Wren pushed herself off the ground to her feet. There was no way she would be able to bring down the demon on her own, she needed to get away and figure out how to get out of the Fade. With her feet under her Wren ran. A cluster of rocks to the right looked to have a promising tunnel through them and she beelined straight for it. Unfortunately, Wren forgot that the spider had long legs. Long enough to catch up with a single step. It knocked her again, this time managing to pierce through her armour with the sharp tip of its leg. Wren tumbled ass over teakettle once more.

Through some kind of luck Wren found herself next to the cluster of rocks she’d been aiming for. On hands and knees she scrambled through, her armour catching on the rocks and holding her back but on she crawled until the tunnel ended abruptly with a jagged wall. She sat, balled up and panting, one hand pressed against her bloody side as the spider roared in anger outside. In her desperate crawl through the tunnel she had ignored the last blow from the spider, but trapped in the tunnel it was all she could think about. The space between her ribs and hip was on fire. The spider had managed to hit her over her old scar. No matter the pressure she put on the wound the blood never seemed to slow. It pooled around her on the ground, soaking into her breeches. If she was going to live Wren needed to get out of there. Holding out her left hand Wren watched the anchor spark and sputter in her palm. With a deep breath she tried to summon the power to open the rift. A swirl of green appeared above her as a rift began forming.

The sound of armour clanking broke her concentration. A shiver like ice crawled down Wren’s back. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was Templar armour. She felt like she was eleven years old again, bloody and trapped with a Templar hunting her. If she listened she could hear the sound of his rough voice laughing at her brother’s body. A tear slipped unbidden down her cheek. Again she opened her hand to summon a rift, trying desperately to shut out the sound of the approaching Templar.  

This time the rift crackled to life around her and Wren felt herself falling away from the Fade. The last thing she saw was the face of the Templar who killed her brother, screaming at her with the spider demon’s howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments/questions/concerns! It always makes my day!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up before the new year but life got in the way...
> 
> BIG shoutout to Marial Bloodwyn for the enthusiastic comment that spurred me into writing most of this in one sitting!

The ride to Adamant was long and hot. Ëonwë tuned out most of Dorian’s loud complaints about the weather and the wildlife, they seemed more directed towards pissing off Cassandra than hating the travel. He happened to know from experience that sometimes Dorian actually liked the great outdoors. Usually only when he was somewhere decently warm, with clear starry skies and a bottle of wine nearby. Cole kept him company during the long days and helped distract him from thoughts of his last desert adventure by asking the most innocent and most difficult questions.  

All in all their trip was long but pleasantly dull. They only occasionally ran into a handful of Red Templars or a particularly ferocious bear or lizard; easily dispatched with little strain on their party. It was better than Ëonwë had pictured their journey to Adamant. Much, much better.

They were a day out from Adamant when Cole sat down beside Ëonwë at their camp’s fire with a spooked look in his eye. For several minutes he did nothing but fiddle with his hat and stare out in the direction of the fortress. Cassandra noticed Cole’s odd behavior as well, following his gaze with sharp eyes. Dorian on the other hand, was wrapped up in staring into his polished silver mirror and trying to comb a powder through it that he claimed was almost as good as rinsing it with soap in a bath. Ëonwë had tried it once or twice at Dorian’s suggestion, but found braiding his elbow length hair back was both easier and solved the problem of it getting in the way.

“She’s coming,” whispered Cole, almost too quiet to catch.

“Who is coming?” asked Cassandra. One of her hands edged towards her beltknife.

“The stars to his sun,” replied Cole, pointing at Ëonwë without looking away. “She’s trying to get away. Hurt, helpless. Another me tried to help but she helped him first. It’s not her home but there’s no Templars and no demons.”

All of them sat up a little straighter. Dorian abandoned his mirror and comb to stand at the edge of the firelight and look out into the dark night, straining his eyes to try and peer into the darkness. Ëonwë crouched by Cole, in his line of sight but not touching.

“Cole, is this person in Adamant Fortress?” asked Ëonwë gently.

“Not yet, she’s trying.”

Ëonwë was so focused on Cole he almost didn’t notice. If it wasn’t for Cassandra’s soft whisper of “Maker” he would have missed its appearance. In the distance glowed a soft green light. In it they could see Adamant outlined as a shadow while the light pulsed around it. Then the light stopped pulsing. Yet instead of staying steady, it grew brighter and brighter until they could no longer stand it, eyes squeezed shut against the light. Ëonwë felt a tug in the anchor on his hand. It had to be a rift, and a big one at that. His hand burned. He could feel it ripping through the veins of his arm, reaching up through blood and bone and flesh to crawl towards his heart. For the first time since awaking in Haven, Ëonwë felt as if he had no control over the rift. It tore the magic out of him in a desperate frenzy. Seconds passed in an eternity as the tug turned to burning to agony.

Then, without warning, both the light and the pain vanished.

Ëonwë fell to his knees, clutching his arm. It no longer hurt but it did tingle like the worst pins and needles.  In the span of a heartbeat Dorian was at his side, warm hands on his shoulders.

“Are you all right, Love? Oh of course not,” Dorian said, shaking his head and pressing a potion into Ëonwë’s hand.

“What happened?” asked Cassandra, voice thick and curt.

Ëonwë looked up at them both. It was hard to make out Cassandra’s face after the bright light of the rift. The stars, so vibrant before, were gone from sight.

“A rift opened. It felt as if I would not have been able to close it even if I wished to. Like someone else was in control.”

Cassandra hummed in displeasure. In the dim light of the fire Ëonwë could see the frown settling across her face. Her fingers drummed against the hilt of her sword. They were all tired, but the rift was a bigger concern. There was no way Ëonwë was going to sleep after this, and from Cassandra’s nervous energy he was sure she would be up half the night as well. He’d be willing to place a bet on Dorian being unable to find rest either, and he still wasn’t completely sure Cole actually slept. Therefore the only option available was to go.

“Should we ride through the night for Adamant?” asked Ëonwë, already knowing the answer.

Their small camp was swiftly dismantled and their mounts resaddled. They rode in a line, Dorian and Ëonwë providing firelight to see by as they crossed the sand. It felt grossly slow. Their limited range of vision kept their pace frustratingly sluggish. Cole spent the ride fidgeting with his horse’s reins and muttering to himself worriedly. Ëonwë couldn’t make out the words but the tone was clear. Whomever Cole could feel waiting for them at the fortress, they were causing him great worry.

They arrived at Adamant with a cold grey dawn. The sun had not yet risen over the far hills and left the world feeling eerily incomplete without shadows in the sand. The Grey Wardens sounded off a horn call in greeting.

The Inquisition’s banner hung alongside the Warden’s own from the battlements. It was strange, to think the Grey Wardens, legendary throughout Thedas, could be controlled by another. It gave Ëonwë shivers to think that he was the one in charge of it all. Yet again it struck him of how bad a plan it was to get a barely twenty year old elf to lead the greatest force south of Tevinter. Bad plan, really.

 As they rode through the scaffolding that made up the main gate a handful of Wardens came to greet them. They handed off their mounts while one Warden beckoned them to follow. She was a tall human woman, with thick black hair and the look of Rivain. She introduced herself as Warden-Constable Andarra once they were inside a relatively undamaged area in the Fortress.

“I apologize for being direct, but Inquisitor, we’ve all been scared out of our minds by the rift last night. It was down in the rubble of the courtyard. Where you walked out of the Fade all them months ago.”

“We could see it from miles away. Do you know if any demons came through?” asked Ëonwë.

Warden-Constable Andarra shook her head. “No demons came through, though I had some of my men search through the rubble and rock. You can imagine, Inquisitor, our surprise at finding someone alive down there, buried deep enough to have been there when the fortress went to pieces and looking like she’d been through it too.”

“You found someone?” asked Cassandra.

“Yeah. An elf. Same sparkly hand as the Inquisitor here.”

That tidbit of information stopped Ëonwë’s train of thought. Derailed it more like. He tried to let the information sink in. Another elf, with an anchor in her hand. Who walked out of the fade at Adamant much like he had those months ago.

He glanced at his companions for their reactions. Both Cassandra and Dorian looked as dumbstruck as he felt, and Cole was simply not there anymore. Ëonwë had a suspicion of just where he might be.

“Take us to the elf.”

The Warden-Constable obliged. She led them down a corridor that was missing half the eastern wall before making a right through a door into a room lined with rickety cots. Two or three of them held other Wardens, but it was the bed in the far corner of the room that got Ëonwë’s attention. Two Wardens stood on guard on either side of the small figure. As they got closer they could make out short, dark auburn hair splayed starkly against the white of the pillow and large ears.

“She’s hurting, but she’s here,” whispered Cole into Ëonwë’s ear, making him jump at the sudden reappearance. “It’s too bright to see her thoughts now.”

“Who is she, Cole?” asked Dorian, “Some mage working for Corypheus I expect.”

The group approached the cot and the guards stood aside. The elf in the bed was young. As young as Ëonwë if he had to take a guess. Freckles littered her skin, the same colour as the vallaslin marking her face.

“I cannot sense any magic from her,” said Cassandra.

“No magic. She was never the magical one. Protector instead. Its better than deciding who would be First,” said Cole, brushing a lock of hair away from the strange elf’s face. Her brow furrowed in response.

It was odd. Ëonwë felt like he knew her, though he definitely could not recall ever seeing her before. There was just something so familiar about her face.  He stepped closer.

“Has she been awake at all?” he asked one of the guards.

“No. With the state she was in when they brought her here I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t wake up at all,” said the guard with a shrug.

Ëonwë frowned and turned back to the girl. He could see the light of the anchor through the blankets covering her left hand. Another mystery. He made a mental note to send a raven with questions for Solas. Whoever this girl was, Ëonwë was going to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

The day wore on long and hot. Overhead the sun bore down on the stone of Adamant Fortress and the Wardens who labored to rebuild it. The sounds of their progress could be heard echoing through the halls no matter where one was. Not that Ëonwë had seen much of the fortress. He had remained in the makeshift infirmary to study the girl in the cot until he had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep. The nap did not last long, though he woke up to using Dorian’s shoulder as a pillow.

With nothing else to do, Ëonwë let his curiosity take over. He and Dorian tried to sense if the girl contained any magical ability, but found nothing save the energy radiating from the anchor in her hand. The bloody armour next to the cot looked strangely as if it could have come from the Inquisition’s own forges. Something in the gleam reminded Ëonwë of his own light armour, and the heavier sets Cassandra wore from time to time. There was no weapon to be seen. Either the Grey Wardens had confiscated it or the girl had lost it before appearing in the courtyard.

The anchor on her hand crackled and sparked, whereas his own was quietly thrumming as a dull glow hidden beneath his glove. Slowly, Ëonwë removed the thin leather and reached out with his left hand. As the two anchors drew closer together hers sparked more violently, and Ëonwë’s own reacted in kind. It felt like a force was keeping them apart, like the magnets Dagna had stashed away to play with back at Skyhold. Every time he reached closer, his hand slid away to one side. He could touch her wrist just fine, just not the hand that held the anchor.

“It’s curious, is it not,” said Cassandra. She was close by, observing and waiting. Always the _lovro’mae_.

“Curious is one word for it. I could think of many others,” said Dorian with a wink, earning a glare and a huff from Cassandra.

Ëonwë tried once more to bring the anchors together, and once again was treated to a needle-like sensation up his arm as his hand met an invisible barrier and slid onto the thin mattress of the cot.

“It’s like the two repel each other. I can’t get the anchor any closer no matter what I try,” said Ëonwë, leaning back away from the girl and shaking out his arm. “They didn’t find any sort of identification or unique items with her?”

Cassandra shook her head. “I asked the Warden-Constable. The elf appeared with nothing, aside from her armour. I have had the chance to look it over, and Inquisitor, to my eye it looks like it is from the Inquisition’s armoury.”

“I thought so as well,” said Ëonwë. “But I have never seen her before.”

“Maybe she’s one of the girls the Iron Bull keeps bringing up to Skyhold,” suggested Dorian with a wink.

“That would not explain how she appeared through a rift with another anchor in her hand,” said Cassandra.

“No it does not, but right now my brilliant mind needs food to function. What say we all see about scrounging up a meal and seeing if the Wardens have any books or notes that could be useful to us?” said Dorian, taking Ëonwë by the shoulder and steering them away.

As they walked out of the room it occurred to Ëonwë that he had not seen Cole in a while. Perhaps he was offering help to the Wardens around the fortress. It was surprising, seeing as he had been concerned for the girl before they arrived.

Food at Adamant was no lavish commodity. They were given ration meant for any soldier; hard, grain-filled bread, a portion of freshly roasted whatever happened to be caught in the trap that morning, and a sliver of lemon sweetened with honey. Cassandra gave Ëonwë her lemon. He had learned that she was not overly fond of sour things, and secretly had a well-controlled sweet tooth. Now that he was looking, he noticed Cole wasn’t in what served as the mess hall either. It was odd for him to be gone for so long in a new place, but perhaps he had sensed someone who needed help.

After their meal, Dorian and Ëonwë inquired after any texts or knowledge of the Fade or demons or even any history on Adamant itself. Anything that could potentially explain why the mysterious girl ended up there of all places. While Cassandra wandered back to stand guard over the girl the two poured over the few books they could find. According to Warden-Constable Andarra, what library was kept at Adamant was destroyed during the siege. Most of what remained were simple legers and a few books on the history of the Grey Wardens. Nothing overly useful as to what made Adamant the place to walk out of the Fade. Inquiring if the girl had been seen at the fortress prior to the rift being opened also turned up a dead end. An elvhen girl wearing Inquisition made armour would have been hard to miss after all.

Ëonwë tugged at his long blonde hair in frustration. He could either stare at useless books or stare at a sleeping elf. Neither option was very appealing. It basically came down to sitting at the girl’s side and understanding nothing about her. He could only piece together what his eyes could observe: the mark of Sylaise, faded with time but not old, scar through her lip and eyebrow suggesting a history of battle, and bandages at the ready by her bedside telling of her wounds.

“It’s alright. Perhaps we can move the girl to Skyhold and have Solas help,” suggested Dorian with a warm, comforting hand on Ëonwë’s shoulder.

Ëonwë leaned into Dorian’s side and let himself be wrapped up in that warmth and the burnt sugar smell that was just so Dorian and so grounding against the thoughts whirling through his mind. Dorian’s hand came up to card through Ëonwë’s hair with feather light fingers. For a moment it was peaceful.

Then the moment ended.

The girl’s eyes flew open. Ëonwë barely had a chance to register their violet colour before she was out of bed and across the room. The movement tossed the thin blankets off the cot and onto Ëonwë and Dorian and they were successfully tangled up as they tried to stand and chase after her. She was still hurt and should not have be standing in her state, but as Ëonwë knew, fear was always a good motivator to push past pain.

For a moment the three of them stood staring at each other, trying to reorient themselves after surprise all around when the girl’s shoulders dropped from their tense, defensive stance and she cocked her head questioningly  to the side.

“Dorian?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this took over TWO months to get posted and its not even that long.... I was sitting on about 800 words for the longest time as life (and new fandoms) took over. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me up to now, I'm hoping it will be at most another month to next update, I'm hoping for sooner, but I can't promise with life's habit of getting in the way.


	8. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so grateful to each and every one of you that have left comments or kudos on this fic. Every time I see them I get motivated to work on it. No writer writes alone, and y'all are my incredible cheer squad. Seriously. I save your comments to look at when i'm feeling down.

Wren slammed back into awareness without warning, the echoes of the Templar’s armour clanking in her mind. Before her eyes were fully open she was up and running, tossing off the weight over her and scrambling across the room. She wasn’t wearing her armour anymore but Cassandra and the Iron Bull had taught her to throw a mean punch. She kept herself at the ready and took in her surroundings, looking wildly for the Templar. The first thing she noticed was that she was no longer in the Fade.

The room was smallish and drafty, not unlike Skyhold. However, It was warmer than the Frostbacks. In front of her, tangled in homespun blankets, were two men. As they pulled the blanket off themselves Wren could see one was an unfamiliar elf, and the other was a familiar human.

“Dorian?” Wren said in a hoarse voice.

Dorian narrowed his eyes for a brief moment before placing his best fake charming smile firmly on his face.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve no time for jokes, Dorian. Did everyone make it back? Are we at Skyhold?” Wren asked as she looked around for anyone else who had been in the fade with her. There were Inquisition soldiers in what appeared to be a sickroom. The walls were cracked and the windows let in golden light that illuminated the dust dancing in the air. As she took it all in she realized it was far too warm here to be Skyhold.

“I really can’t say I’ve ever met you before. Are you one of the Bull’s Chargers then? A lovely kitchen girl perhaps?” asked Dorian as his eyes ran up and down her small form. Wren could tell he was frantically trying to come up with something behind those dark eyes. She’d seen it before when visiting nobles came to Skyhold and she left it to Josephine and Dorian to help entertain them.

The elf beside him stepped forward with a plain, charming smile on his face.

“If you are looking to travel to Skyhold we would welcome your company on the journey back,” said the elf.

Dorian looked aghast that the elf’s suggestion.

Something about the elf felt familiar. Long gold hair hung to his elbows and matching eyes watched her without fear or piety as many now did. There was something about his overlarge ears, the slant of his nose, the softness of his mouth that echoed in her mind. It could have been the freckles that danced across his skin in constellations that matched her own. Wren couldn’t put her finger on it.

While the mysterious elf in front of her bothered her, the thought of what had happened to the rest of her party was even more troubling. They had gone through the rift, but where had they come out? Had they made it back to Adamant? To Skyhold?

“I would be happy for extra blades and magic on the way home, but please, what happened to the others? Are they all right?”

“Were there others with you?” asked the elf.

“Cole, Solas, and Cassandra joined me in the charge on Adamant, and Hawke and Alistair leant us their strength. We went through a rift and I sent them back ahead. I need to know if they’ve been found,” said Wren, looking between the elf and Dorian. “Please Dorian, have you had any word from the others?”

The two exchanged a long glance filled with several raised eyebrows. Silently the two debated it out before Dorian turned back to Wren.

“You said you were at the siege of Adamant?”

“Yes.”

“There’s something strange at work here. I feel like I’m missing something,” said Dorian, sinking into his all familiar thinking pose, one hand cupping his elbow.

As he spoke, the door to the room opened and in strode Cassandra. Wren’s heart leapt at the sight of her. Cassandra’s very presence was enough to ground her from the rising panic that was fluttering through her chest. She strode over to them, armour clanking with every step. Wren immediately turned to her and grasped her hand in relief.

“Cassandra, you’re here!” Wren exclaimed, searching Cassandra for any wounds.

With a grunt Cassandra ripped her hand away and took a step back.

“Cassandra?” Wren’s brief relief at seeing Cassandra was crumbling away and her stomach was threatening to claw its way out of her throat. There was no recognition, no softness in Cassandra’s face, only confusion.

“Who are you?”

It was a blow to the stomach. Cassandra wouldn’t jest in a situation like this. She hardly joked around at all. Watching Cassandra’s hand go to rest on her sword was another blow.

“I will not ask a third time, who are you?” demanded Cassandra when Wren was quiet for several heartbeats as her mind whirled.

“It’s me Cassandra, you know me. It’s Wren,” said Wren softly.

Wren caught the quick pleading look Cassandra sent the other two.

“I have never met you before in my life.”

Tears pricked at the corner of Wren’s eyes as it became harder to breathe. The world around her spun on a dizzying axis before she took several deep breaths, and through her fear she felt anger. This was Cassandra, her Cassandra. Dorian could poke fun at her all he wanted, but she was scared and hurt, this was not the game she wanted to be playing.

“My name is Wren Lavellan, I am the Inquisitor who sits the throne at Skyhold, I lead the cause you fight for. I gave you my clan’s totem on my birthday as a symbol of my affection, and you tell me you do not know who I am?”

Wren breathed several loud, ragged breaths in the stillness that followed her words as the other three looked on with varying levels of shock on their face.

The silence was broken by the elf sitting down on the floor very quickly and putting his head into his hands.  Dorian’s hand went to the elf’s shoulder and rubbed in a gentle motion.

“You said your name was Wren?” asked Dorian quietly.

Wren nodded.

“You claim to be the Inquisitor, yet I have never met you. I don’t have this totem you claim to have given me. The one I follow is him,” said Cassandra with a gesture to the elf on the ground, now taking big hiccupping breaths.

Wren felt her knees start to go half a second before her ass hit the ground. Her mind felt fuzzy and blank. One hand drifted towards her mouth and she bit down hard. At first she didn’t feel it, and this was all a bad dream. In a moment she’d wake in her bedroll to the sound of a fire burning low and Cole pestering Solas. Then the pain started tingling through her bones and the hope that she would wake and things would all be okay was shattered. One hot tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another.

“Please, if I’m still trapped in the Fear Demon’s lair, I beg of you to let me go,” said Wren wetly.  “Please.”

She began looking for the strange sights that had haunted her in the Fade. The broken mirrors and dolls, the spirits lurking quietly in corners, the strange green sky. None were present. Instead Wren could hear the sound of people outside, of shouted orders and the snapping of banners in wind. She could see the sky outside, not whirling green but calm, cloudless blue.

A hand, thin fingered and calloused, came down on Wren’s shoulder. She flinched, but let it stay. Cole had appeared out of thin air behind her and sat down. Gently he wrapped one thin arm around her shoulders.

“The demon is gone. You’re here but not from here. I heard you crying under the stones. Stuck, it’s going to get me. You opened the wrong door,” said Cole in his quiet way. “It’s hard to understand. You’re the Lavellan there, and he’s the Lavellan here. Two sides.”

The elf across from Wren was staring at her with something like horror and recognition. His golden eyes ranged over her face, lingering over the scars through her lip and her brow.

“Your name is Wren?”

“Yes.”

“You’re twenty years old?”

“…yes?”

“You have the anchor in your hand, it blew up the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“Is this going to turn into an interrogation?”

The elf smiled brightly and shook his head. “No, rather the pieces are falling into place.”

“Mind explaining to the rest of us in on what is going on?” asked Cassandra, glancing from the elf to Wren.

“I’m just as lost as you are,” said Wren.

“I will need Solas’ expertise to confirm it, but I believe that what we are experiencing is the convergence of two different realities. Not our world and the fade, but our world and another, where one event in history had a different outcome,” explained the elf. Dorian nodded along, but Wren felt the words flying over her head.

“Two sides,” murmured Cole at her side.

Wren felt like the answer to wherever she had ended up and who this elf could be was just out of reach. A home that wasn’t home, an Inquisitor who wasn’t her.  Perhaps it was still the echoes of a rough battle that kept her mind fuzzy. The elf leaned forward and offered his right hand with a gentle smile.

“Wren, my _asa’ma’lin_. It’s Ëonwë,” he said gently as he took Wren’s hand in his own.

Wren froze. Surely she heard wrong. Ëonwë was dead. Buried. Mourned. He haunted her nightmares as a blonde boy dripping in blood and accusing her of failure. The elf in front of her was healthy, alive. He’d had the chance to grow up and be someone. Yet the familiarities that had struck Wren before now made themselves obvious. He had her high cheekbones, the same tilt to their noses, their _babae_ ’s oversized ears. The set of freckles just under his chin that danced in the shape of a heart.  Everything in her told her Ëonwë was long dead, yet if he had grown with her this was the elf he would have become. 

“Ëonwë?” The name tasted of dust on her lips. “You lived?”

All he had to do was start nodding before Wren launched herself across the floor at him and tackle him in a hug despite the armoured bits that hung off him. She didn’t care if Dorian and Cassandra watched her fall apart in her brother’s arms. Wren didn’t care that Dorian didn’t recognize her, that this Cassandra felt nothing for her. The feel of her brother, solid and alive in her arms was worth giving up the life she knew.

 

 

(i realize i never included a pic of Ëonwë in this fic, here u go)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so goddamn long. School, life, the works.


	9. Journey to Skyhold

Sometimes, Ëonwë thought that perhaps he did die at the Conclave and that the afterlife was particularly good at trying to convince him he was still alive before taking a sharp turn left into the improbable. Examples of this included him being put in charge of the most united force in Thedas, Dorian’s unyielding affection, and his sister, dead for almost ten years, walking out of the fade and back into his life.

There were tears at first. Ëonwë felt too many emotions all at once to control himself. The two of them were openly weeping for what felt like both a year and a second. Too much and not nearly enough. Now, hours later, he mostly felt a numb sort of happiness. Wren hadn’t left his side since she awoke yet it felt like she might vanish at any moment if he looked away too long.

She was different than the girl he remembered, just as he was sure he was different from the boy he had been. There was a restlessness under her skin that he didn’t remember. The hair she had once proudly grown long was short around her ears. Lean muscle carved away any of the softness she had carried as a child. This was not the Wren he remembered. Whatever happened after he died in her world had shaped her into someone both skittish and strong. Just as the Circle had carved him into their perfect mage.

It didn’t take long to get the story out of Wren. It was eerily similar to his own. The Grey Wardens being tricked into killing each other and enslaving themselves, the attack on Adamant, falling into the fade. All of it echoed his own experience. Their two worlds were following the same path, the only difference was the one leading the Inquisition.

They soon made ready to travel back to Skyhold. Wren was still injured and their journey would be slow. She didn’t complain, but Ëonwë could see that she tired easily. They had arranged use of a cart to travel back with two surefooted horses pulling it. He watched as Wren stuck to his side, but stayed distant from Dorian and Cassandra. Cole she allowed close, and the two of them sometimes talked in hushed voices, heads bowed together. Ëonwë caught a few of their conversations as they went, carried on the air or close enough to hear the whispers.

“The song is weak, but it echoes in you. Close, but not close enough,” murmured Cole.

“Can you hear across? To the others?” asked Wren.

To anyone unused to Cole’s strange way of conversing it would have sounded like a very strange conversation indeed.

“I can hear, but distant. Quiet. Like the moon from underwater. They are louder when they think of you. Grief is loudest.”

“Is there any way of letting them know I’m okay?”

“My voice isn’t loud enough to be heard over so many songs. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize Cole, it was a long shot.”

Ëonwë watched as Wren gently placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder and then received a thin arm around her shoulders in as much of a hug as Cole would ever give.

“Keep them close. Every time you let yourself step away your light gets dimmer,” said Cole quietly before pulling his arm back and putting his folded hands into his lap.

Wren nodded and leaned back against the cart with closed eyes, and appeared to drift into sleep.

Ëonwë found a blanket and rolled it up to place gently behind her head. No sense in waking up with a sore neck. He then wiggled himself until he was laying flat in the back of the cart and watching the clouds roll across the blue sky. He could have gone for one of Varric’s stories about Hawke. One of the ones from their early days that didn’t involve things like red lyrium or the Chantry going mad. Something to pass the time without the heavier emotion to follow once the words had faded. He tried to remember part of a tale about a con man selling fake “ashes of Andraste” and claiming they had the power to heal, but the details kept slipping his mind. He was just about to drift off when a dark shadow loomed over him.

“Dreadfully tiring, all this travel,” said Dorian as he looked down at Ëonwë.

Ëonwë shifted until he could sit, legs crossed, facing Dorian. He shook his long gold hair over his shoulder as he leaned forward, chin in hand and elbow on knee.

“I find it quite relaxing.”

“It is nice to not have to stop and fight something every five minutes along the way. Means we can actually have a conversation,” said Dorian.

“Is there something we should be talking about?” asked Ëonwë, brow furrowing.

“Well, for one your long-dead sister falling out of a rift, and all the questions that raises. Are there parallel worlds alongside our own? Connected by the Fade and different in such small yet large ways? What does it mean that something from one of those universes can fall into our own?” Dorian crossed his arms so he could subtly fidget with a piece of his armour near the crook of his elbow.

“These are questions for Solas, or for someone far more studied in the nature of the Fade and the world than me,” answered Ëonwë. “I know so little about magic, you know this. I’m just glad she’s here.”

“And I am happy for you, Amatus. I am. Yet I am also wary of the Fade and it’s temptations. Or what it means if someone from a different universe exists here, where they haven’t for the last decade or so,” said Dorian.

Ëonwë paused and looked Dorian over. There was a tightness in his jaw, a caged look in his eye. There was something else he wasn’t saying.

“You’re not jealous are you?”

The following silence said a lot.

“Dorian, she’s my sister, who’s been dead for the last nine years. You are still my _arasha_. I might not give you all my attention, but you have all my heart. I don’t love you any less for loving her.”

Dorian frowned, then sighed. All the tension seemed to melt away from his face as he looked up to the sky with a laugh.

“A bitter heart I may possess, but it is yours. Sorry, I’ll work on sharing you,” said Dorian, pulling Ëonwë in close for an awkward sitting hug.

Their trip passed through familiar landmarks, though they did not stop to check in on the Inquisition scouts and soldiers holding the fortifications and outposts. They replenished supplies when they needed it at whatever village happened to be closest. Took care of minor troubles on the road but for most alerted the next camp of Inquisition soldiers to the problem and continued on their way. Through most of it Wren stayed in the cart, quiet and hidden of her own volition. He could see her staring at some of the sights around them. Observing eyes roaming over details and looking for faces and things not present.

The day they arrived at Skyhold the mountain passes were blustery with wind and snow. They all huddled in the back of the cart under cloaks and blankets. Cassandra, who was driving them up the narrow road to Skyhold, had thick furs around her shoulders, but Ëonwë could still see her shivering. The lanterns on the walls were a welcome sight full of the promise of warm fires inside.

The call went up as they got close. “The Inquisitor is coming!” It echoed off the battlements and across the mountains. Ëonwë watched as Wren perked up a little at the cry, purple eyes roaming the walls with familiarity.

“Welcome to Skyhold,” said Ëonwë.

“Somehow, it feels like I’ve been here before,” replied Wren with a smirk. It quickly disappeared beneath a cloudy expression as they drifted through the gate and Cassandra pulled them to a final halt.

The courtyard was quiet, and it didn’t take long to spot why. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were gathered together on the stairs waiting for them. All three were stony-faced in their waiting. Ëonwë swallowed hard. The three of them together like that was certainly a formidable sight. There were onlookers watching from the walls and the edges of the courtyard, but no greetings called to Ëonwë or the rest. There was too much tension in the air for that.

“Inquisitor, it is good to see you’ve returned,” said Josephine, with an attempt at her usual cheer.

Ëonwë simply inclined his head and subtly stepped in front of his sister.

“I believe we need to talk out your new discoveries, perhaps somewhere with less eyes,” said Leliana, glancing at their crowd.

“Seems appropriate,” said Ëonwë, and gestured for her to lead the way.

The walk felt like it dragged on forever with all the eyes tracking their every moves. Luckily Cassandra and Dorian helped Ëonwë with strategically blocking Wren from complete view. It would be best not to show off the fact that someone else had an anchor embedded in their hand. They’d either believe her to be an ally of Corypheus at worst and undo the entire foundation of the Inquisition at best.

As they began up the second set of stairs into the keep Ëonwë felt a tug at his elbow. He turned and looked back into Wren’s terrified face. She kept glancing to the side and her hunched shoulders let him know there was something seriously wrong. Was there something that different between his Skyhold and hers?

“What is it?” asked Ëonwë quietly, not letting anyone else hear the question.

“Templars, _isa’ma’lin_. Why are there Templars?”

Her hand was clenched in her side as she cowered. Ëonwë stared. Why would Templars be an issue. It hadn’t taken him very much thought to side with the Templars and ally himself with them, but then again, he was not long out of the Chantry, and they felt familiar and safe, as opposed to the wildness of free magic. Wren just had her own experience to go off of, and it didn’t take Ëonwë long to realize what her take on the Templars could be. After all, it took him years to not see Wren dead and bloody every time he saw a Templar in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well its been forever, i'm so sorry. My mental health? died over the summer. So hopefully back to my at least once a month update schedule. I hope.


	10. Chapter 10

Wren felt strung as tight as a bow as she was paraded through Skyhold alongside Ëonwë. The polished armour of the Templars gleamed wherever she turned to look. The faint jingle of it echoed her steps and haunted her as she walked. With every step she felt like she was growing smaller and smaller, and by the time they found themselves inside the main hall she felt as if she were eleven years old, thin and untrained and desperately at disadvantage. At least Ëonwë was stuck fast to her side like a burr in hair. She took some confidence in the fact that he looked relaxed in front of the Templars, but it had been a long nine years since she had been with her brother. Seeing the Templars around them now Wren wondered just how much her brother had changed since she disappeared from his life.

The inside of the main hall was much the same as the one she had left behind. Tapestries with Dalish sigils hung from the rough stone walls above large fireplaces and low wood tables that lined the sides of the room. Wren caught a flash of red and turned her head to see the inquisitive gaze of Varric watching their group from his usual spot near the door to the base of the tower. The biggest difference was the distinct lack of scaffolding. The Skyhold in this world was definitely further along in its repairs than her own.

Wren was almost knocked over by the group’s sudden turn to the left. She should have known that a “private conversation” would take place in the war room. At least Leliana wasn’t dragging her to one of those awful cells that hung exposed over the waterfall beneath Skyhold.

They passed through the familiar long corridor past Josephine’s nook and through the breezy stone and through the heavy wood doors of the war room. The echoing boom of the doors shutting behind sounded with such deep finality it made Wren shiver. As all three advisers, Cassandra, and Dorian turned to face Wren she at least felt Ëonwë shift closer and press his shoulder into hers in a subtle show of support.

“So. Your sister has returned from the dead,” said Leliana icily, crossing her arms and setting her face into cold stone. “Another miracle from the Maker.”

“I did not lie in my report,” said Ëonwë.

Leliana just narrowed her eyes. Her gaze slid past Ëonwë to pierce through Wren. It had been a long time since Leliana had looked at her like that.

“I do not doubt your words, Inquisitor, just their subject.”

“We cannot be certain that this is truly your sister. You say she stepped out of the fade, as you did, but this could be the work of a demon,” said Cullen.

Wren frowned. What demon would be able to keep up a charade this long. She wasn’t the most versed in demons and other matters of the fade, but every demon she had met had the common trait of impatience.

“I am no demon.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you quite yet,” said Leliana.

“I swear I am neither a demon nor an agent of Corypheus. If I could explain how I got here I would, but I am not sure. I was in the fade after falling though a rift, and when I tried to leave the fade I ended up here.”

Wren wished her voice didn’t waver and fade at the end of her speech, but the cold eyes of her advisers sapped whatever strength she could muster.

Josephine was the first to soften. Her dark eyes flicked back to Cullen and Leliana and she shifted, rustling her dress, but she was well seasoned in watching hearings. Cassandra and Dorian kept quiet, feeling the tension in the room, though both were glancing at Ëonwë.

“Accusing and denying will get us nowhere. What do we have to do to prove to you Wren is who she says she is?” said Ëonwë calmly, though with steel in his voice.

There was a pause, like they hadn’t even considered that Wren might prove herself not an enemy. She felt a pang of hurt before telling herself that these were not her friends, the ones she had known for months, survived Haven with, and founded the Inquisition. She was a stranger to these people. And despite what she knew of them in her world, they could very well be strangers to her here.

“Would an examination by Solas satisfy you?” asked Ëonwë.

“It would be a good start.”

“Good. And Wren will be requiring quarters, ones suitable for the Inquisitor’s sister. I shall see what I can have arranged,” said Josephine, ready to help now that the tension had lessened.

“Perhaps we should be more delicate with that piece of information, Josie. If it is known that the Inquisitor has family here she will become a target for our enemies,” said Leliana. “Outside of this room she is an ambassador from the Dalish in the Free Marches. It is always easier to tell a lie when it is rooted in truth.”

“Well? Are we all in agreement then? I have a date with my armchair and a bottle of Antivan brandy that I would hate to miss,” said Dorian, clapping his hands together and raising his eyebrows at the advisors.

At their agreement, Wren turned tail and fled the room as fast as she could without outright sprinting to the door. She let her feet take her to wherever they would, and that place happened to be the shade of the tree near the training dummies. No one stopped her on the way, so she figured she must be free to roam around Skyhold while they explained things to Solas. She definitely did not glue her eyes to the ground and ignore the friendly calls from Varric as she passed. She was simply distracted by her thoughts.

Wren dropped to the grass with an ungraceful thump. She was still sore from her escapade through the fade. And still tired. With a sigh, she leaned back against the rough bark and took in the leaves overhead. The bright green of the sunlight filtering through the leaves was nearly the same shade as the anchor in her hand. It was aching again. The anchor pulsed faintly, always just on the edge of uncomfortable awareness. It almost itched, like a spider bite. The kind that bordered on painful. If she concentrated hard enough she could feel the magic eating at her palm, growing a hair’s breadth wider with every heartbeat.

“Hello?”

Wren was startled out of her thoughts by a familiar accented voice.

“Sorry miss, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Wren looked up into Krem’s kind face. He was standing a few feet away in his practice armour with his shield already buckled to his arm.

“Hello,” said Wren. She had forgotten just how many people she had to reintroduce herself to.

“You looked so peaceful I wanted to give you fair warning that the Chief ‘n the rest of the boys were about to start some training. It’s going to get loud and rude out here. We’re the Bull’s Chargers, mercenary company the Inquisitor picked up. I’m the Iron Bull’s Lieutenant, Krem.”

He offered Wren a hand up from the ground. She took it and let him pull her to her feet.

“It’s nice to meet you Krem. My name is Wren, from a clan in the Free Marches.”

“Weren’t you the one with the Inquisitor and them when they arrived?” asked Krem, squinting his eyes and tilting his head.

Wren’s mind went blank for a moment as she tried to come up with something that would make her sound like the most boring, unimportant elf to ever walk Thedas. Eyes wide, she began to stammer out a half-baked excuse for herself when Krem took pity on her.

“If it’s something secret or whatever don’t worry about it. Chief’s one of them Qunari spies, I know the drill.” He gave her a wink that may have been supposed to be charming.

“Thank you,” said Wren.

“Krem! Got those dummies moved yet?” a great voice boomed from around the corner.

“Sorry Chief, got a little distracted,” called back Krem as the Iron Bull came around the corner closely followed by the rest of the Chargers like a mama duck and her ducklings.

Tall, imposing, and wide as a wall, most people shrank back on their first meeting with the Iron Bull. Wren did, the first time she’d met him. But she had months to get to know him, learn that he was only a danger on the battlefield, and then only to their enemies.

“Found yourself a friend, Krem,” said Iron Bull, clapping a hand against Krem’s shoulder before turning to Wren. “Name’s the Iron Bull, for reasons that might be obvious. Hope Krem here wasn’t giving you too much trouble.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, the Iron Bull,” said Wren with an easy grin. “I’m Wren.”

“New here, huh? You’re welcome to some training with me and my boys if you like. Today we’re drilling agility. Dodging swords is a great skill in battle, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Oh good, another sacrifice to his demon-cursed training.” One of the Charger’s muttered.

“Ah, so kind of you to volunteer an extra set of drills,” shot back the Iron Bull to a loud chorus of groans.

“Escape now, while you can,” said Krem in a stage whisper.

Wren mentally agreed, but then as she looked beyond the group she saw the familiar armour of the Templars gleaming in the soft sunlight.

“While I may not be up for training today myself, I do need a bit of help dodging swords. I was injured on my journey to Skyhold. I might stay and watch if you’ll let me,” said Wren, hoping to spend as much time as possible away from Templars and among friends.

She saw the Iron Bull’s subtle glance back at the armoured men and women in the courtyard and watched as he mentally started puzzling things together. Perhaps he thought she was a Dalish apostate.

“Of course. I can always use an extra set of eyes to keep ‘em in line. Don’t be afraid to shout if someone’s getting sloppy,” said the Iron Bull.

“I’ll try,” said Wren. She settled once more on the grass and watched as the Chargers ran through exercise after exercise. No one would look for her here with the Chargers training and yet all of them were witnesses to her location. It was perfect. And best of all she could forget, however briefly, that there were armed Templars less than a hundred feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took more than a month, all because i finally got a job in my field and that means working 12+ hour days 5 days a week. i mostly sleep on weekends. I feel like the DA fandom is dying around me with no DA4 news. So, if anyone has any fics to recommend, please send them my way!! You might be able to guess my fave type of fics (h/c).


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